Cease touching me
by Rin Lombardi
Summary: He's sick of her touching him willy nilly. Chat Blanc's ready to slice her up if she does again. Until she gives him pancakes of all things.{Early days} [A White Cat on the Windowsill]


After the third time of her fingers ghosting over his arm-more than likely just to remind herself he was here- he was sick of her contact. Just because she was his soulmate did not give her permission to touch him whenever she pleased. He'd only come over to see what the racket she was working on was. Apparently, she was trying to make him a beanie. Or something? He'd forgotten already, more annoyed by the sound it was making to care.

"If you touch me one more time, Marinette, I may cut your throat and leave you for the birds." It is punctuated by claws gliding up _her_ arm, to skim over her neck in something fond, but also dangerous. Needless to say, Marinette jerking away from him was _pleasant_ , if tainted with a bit of guilt. He should be nicer to her.

"Alright! Yep! Stopping now!" She says while giving Blanc space, and trying her best to get back to the project she'd been working on. Without bumping Chat Blanc, who remained exactly where he was. Inconveniently.

Abated, Chat Blanc stands there for a few more moments before turning and tromping back to the stairs to the loft, batting a fabric bolt aside on the way. One ear flicks when he hears a small burst of laughter over it, and Blanc growls a bit, turning to point a claw at Marinette. She turns back to her project again quickly at the growling alone. He glares at her back for a few moments before he's resuming his ascent, and plunks himself into her bed unceremoniously. Blanc slowly wedges himself under the covers and watches Marinette work from that spot.

The machine's thudding, previously irritating but now just background noise, lulled him to sleep as Marinette continued on with her sewing project. Marinette glances up after an hour of sewing, just to check on him, and smiles a bit at the sight of the akuma in her bed asleep. Or, at least, he looked like he was asleep. Chat very well could still be awake. He looked so much more at peace when he wasn't awake. It was such a stunning difference, Marinette thought.

* * *

Marinette was starving. She'd finished that project, a hood for Chat for when it rained-she doubted he'd wear it, but she couldn't help but worry for him. Even if he could be so cold to her, he could also be so tender, too. But now, she was finally unable to keep working due to hunger. She pulls the plug on her machine-mostly to avoid Chat messing anything up- before going downstairs. Her parents were absent, out shopping currently so she could spare the time to indulge herself and make some chocolate chip pancakes.

As she's getting everything set up, Chat's listening from the trapdoor, ears pointed down to the lower floors. He'd gotten up almost the instant he'd heard the trapdoor shut, unsure what his mate was doing downstairs. He'd never gone down himself, uncaring for the lower levels-Marinette stayed up here with him, after all- but now, he probably should. He couldn't hear any other souls below beside her, so he wouldn't have to listen to any screams of terror, either.

And then Chat smells something cooking. Something he could only faintly remember from when he'd been _Adrien_. That had been years ago. The thought of _pancakes_ draws him slowly down the steps, before he's prowling the floorboards in search of Marinette and possible food. It's not hard to find her ultimately, she's standing in the kitchen watching a cake cook. He stands up straight and slinks up behind her, looking at her third pancake with curious eyes. "Chocolate chip?" Blanc asks with a raised eyebrow. He never took his eyes off the cake, even when Marinette slammed herself into his chest in panic at his sudden arrival. He merely reaches up-claws ghosting along- before pressing her back forward to the stove.

"Y-Yeah! I.. like chocolate chip sometimes." Marinette stumbles through her words, head tilting back to look up at Chat-once again in her is why she's always touching you, Blanc- nervously. When he doesn't kill her on the spot for the contact, she exhales in relief and goes back to cooking. Sometimes, Chat just liked to _watch_. And while it was unnerving, she could work around it. "Sit at the table. I'll give you a pancake to eat." Marinette says firmly, and that seems enough to placate Blanc as he steps away from her and makes himself at home at the aforementioned table. By the time she's finished with it all, Chat's leaning back in his seat, eyes focused on her as she brings him a plate and sets her own beside him.

Now, when their elbows bump, he doesn't growl, or threaten. Merely fixes the limb with a sour look.

It's progress.


End file.
